


Hormones

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Facials, Frottage, M/M, Roughness, erotic asphyxiation, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just one comment, some stupid throwaway remark that Stiles can’t even remember saying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hormones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lannisnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannisnow/gifts).



It was just one comment, some stupid throwaway remark that Stiles can’t even remember saying.

Everyone else had ignored him (as is the norm) and voted that he and Derek go pick up more snacks, but Stiles is getting the feeling that maybe certain persons were offended by it. Persons like Derek because there is no other reason for why Stiles is suddenly getting slammed against the back of his jeep.

Derek doesn't look mad, but it's hard to see anything this late at night and Stiles apparently parked in a spot where the glow of the streetlights around them is just out of range.

Stiles opens his mouth to get out a quick apology, maybe nip this thing in the bud before Derek gets all fanged and glowy-eyed about it; Derek is faster than him, though, and getting faster with all the time they spend together (winkwink). There's a hand over his mouth before anything comes out, effectively silencing him.

"I don't care what you think you did right or wrong. I didn't like your stupid comment." Derek growls, leaning down to nose Stiles' head to the side so he can get at his neck, and Stiles shudders, doesn't fight it, just tips his head back and bares his throat. He doesn't mind when Derek goes all Alpha on him-- it just that normally they're more naked and not in an empty parking lot.

The slide of Derek's thigh as it slips between his legs startles a noise out of him, his low groan muffled against Derek's palm, still pressing against his mouth. Stiles is already hard, torn between being thankful or mortified at how fast his dick hardens when Derek steps within two feet of him.

Hormones. Ugh.

A sharp bite to his neck snaps him back to the situation at hand, Derek's voice vibrating across his skin as he growls again. "You don't get to zone out, Stiles."

Stiles makes a protesting noise, but when he shifts to move his hands he finds that Derek already has both by the wrist, clasped tight in his free hand and shoving them overhead. Pinned, gagged, Stiles reflexively bucks his hips in search of friction, just a bit of relief until he can convince Derek to fuck him, publicly or not.

Derek makes an appreciative noise, nipping at the dotting of freckles that travel along Stiles' neck, and starts grinding his thigh up. Moaning is pointless, but Stiles does it anyway. The vibration against Derek's palm tickles his lips.

It doesn't take long before they're rocking together faster, Derek pressing his thigh deeper between Stiles' legs and making him whimper. He doesn't have enough air in his lungs to moan and is left to just panting against Derek's palm, desperate for release, but even more desperate to feel Derek inside of him. To be stretched and fucked out against the back of his jeep, still warm from the drive over, but Derek's palm is still...

Stiles tips his head back as far as he can, freeing his mouth long enough to get out a wrecked moan that sounds somewhat like Derek's name before that hand wraps around his neck and squeezes, just slightly.

"Maybe I didn't drop enough clues, or maybe you just want to hear me order you," Derek whispers darkly, eyes flashing quickly from green to red to green again. "But you aren't allowed to move." His hand flexes a bit tighter, and Stiles silently gasps, hips bucking again. "And you aren't allowed to talk, either."

Stiles wants to protest, wants to beg for it until Derek caves and spreads him open, comes deep inside of him, licks him clean again; the clamp of Derek's hand is tight enough that all Stiles can do is let out a strangled whimper and writhe.

Derek laves a bite with his tongue, his voice gravelly and deep when he speaks, the way it always is when he gets this turned on.

"You'll come in your pants, like the hormonal brat you are, and maybe then you'll think before you make stupid comments and shoot your hormones at every wolf within scenting range."

When Derek moves his hand away, Stiles behaves himself. He grinds down against Derek's thigh, flows with it, but he can only stick with that for so long when his body is crying out at the memory of all their last times spent in similar situations, with less clothing involved and Derek's fingers working inside of him.

"Please."

Derek's snarls against his neck and hauls Stiles up by the thighs, slamming him back against the jeep with a loud BANG. He bites down on Stiles' neck and starts rutting against him, and it's so close to the fucking Stiles wants, rough and relentless, with a grip on him that’ll probably leave marks, but they're still clothed and he doesn't want to come in his pants, wants to feel everything deeper.

He doesn't have any time to beg. Derek's mouth closes over his neck, just over his pulse, and bites down. Derek really isn't going to fuck him. He's going to make Stiles come in his jeans, probably won't even let him change once they get back, and he'll smell like come and sweat for the rest of the night.

And all it takes is another slam against the jeep and the snarled command against his bruised skin before Stiles bucks forward and comes, choking on air and Derek's name, banging his head back against the metal hard enough to see stars when he arches his back.

Derek lets go after that.

Stiles stares through dazed eyes, distantly aware that he's sliding down the jeep, boxers sticky and wet with his own mess. He doesn't even realize that Derek fumbled his pants open and is finishing himself off until calloused fingers tilt Stiles’ chin up and warmth splashes over his face.

Most of it is already streaked across his cheeks and dripping on his chin, but Stiles drops open his mouth and sways forward in time to catch the end of it with his tongue, lips wrapped around the head of Derek's dick.

Derek finally sinks down to join him on the ground. He laps the mess off of his face and press it into a kiss that tastes purely of Stiles, who groans softly, and takes advantage of his newly freed arms by wrapping around Derek's neck and hauling him in closer.

By the time they make it back to the house, the ice cream is half melted and the soda is warm and Stiles is pretty sure he smells completely like jizz. The wolves look at him with expressions ranging from horror to amusement to irritation, but Derek looks like he's daring them to comment and none are willing to step up to the challenge.

And, y'know, Derek was right. Stiles did learn something from this whole experience. Sure, it isn't the lesson Derek had meant to teach him, but Stiles is certain that it's the most important lesson of all. 

He resolves to casually throw around his hormones in company more often.


End file.
